We were with Mr. David Awonuga, our music instructor, going over Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli’s The Prayer in preparation for a performance.
I was struggling with pronouncing the Italian words right while Vivian, the soprano I was dueting with, had nailed the song down to salvera. (Salvera is the last word in the piece to be sung like Whitney Houston’s ‘I will always love youuuuu’).
So, here I am, on a topic that has over the last lots-of-months gone from being hot cake to I-don’t-know-what – LGBT.
I’m sure you know that the US Supreme Court has legalized homosexuality in all fifty states of their country – stale story, yeah? I know, so I won’t dwell on it.
And I can hear the Heavens laughing already; Sharon wants to write about reading 😂ROTFLOL.
But I’ll do this anyway, I’ll write on the significance of reading, or learning as a whole. So, sit back and learn 😋
I’m not so much a big fan of reading books; It’s just not so much fun when compared to sleeping. I, however, observed something recently: when I stop reading anything at all, seeing movies (Dope movies, not dumb ones), seeing how people’s lives are trending online – via Instagram, Twitter, Facebook – I begin to get stale. Whatever I write or say seems to be void of substance – at least, so it seems to me.
“We’ll keep on falling down unless we fall in Love,” I tell him while it rains cats and dogs outside. (We’re in our room watching ‘The Hobbit’)
He (the young, fly, saved Christian) responds with laughter from the core of his being. His laughter is a mixture of water-walking faith and crippling fear that shakes the bed we’re laying on to its joints.
You know, often times when I hear or read people give testimonies like:
“I was depressed and tired of life, I wanted to commit suicide. No one cared about me, I was an insignificant part of everyone’s life. Even my family never cared for me. The day I decided I was going to put an end to it all, an end to my life, I was walking down the road and saw this lady who smiled at me. I was so surprised I wasn’t even sure if I was supposed to smile back. I felt so special, at least one person noticed me and gave me a smile; that smile changed my life and because of that I decided against commiting suicide”
This is a piece I wrote for the stage sometime ago… I think it’s just apt for this ‘season’… So, here we go:
I’m on this stage to talk about you and I ‘cos often times, when on questionnaires or online or through some other means, we are asked to indicate our identity and we tick Nigeria, I wonder what exactly that means
I mean for a French man,he believes he is the custodian of civilization
For a German, he believes he is the epitome of knowledge and,
For an American, strength in diversity.
So for a Nigerian, what exactly?
I cower to say what’s on my mind,
What my Nation has come to represent on the sand of time…
Pain, poverty, pain and, more pain.
I never liked her
I would never admit to being jealous of her though
She always had this gentle smile, the kind seen in the movies – bright
eyes, pink lips,white set of teeth…
You could almost kiss her!
It was just perfect… too perfect.
She’d say a good morning, then accentuate it with her smile, then
add ‘have a blissful day!’
I mean, WHO IN THE WORLD SAYS ‘HAVE A BLISSFUL DAY?!'”
And the smile would always be there.
It was like she did it to taunt me,
I could hear the smile singing: ‘YOU CAN NEVER BE LIKE Me la la la la
la, SUCK IT UP.”
I hate her.
I swear, I do!